Enduring Love
by PuPu
Summary: Eiri writes a new story and comes to a new realization of his love for Shuichi and Kitazawa Yuki.


Disclaimer: Gravitation does not belong to me. 

Notes: I've decided to write again (OH NO!!)!! Just something I come up with after reading the whole manga. This isn't a continuation or anything like that. It's a story on it's own, tying in certain thoughts of my own. This "prologue" isn't much yet. I'll work on it real soon. 

****

Enduring Love 

By PuPu 

track00: morning

Love shouldn't be penetrating. It shouldn't be manifesting at the sheer transparency of a couple's devotion for each other. It shouldn't be of such austere simplisticity and abstruse ostentation at the same time. 

Love should be a series of beautiful accidents. Love should be an embarkation upon an enigma next to godliness. It should be... 

Fuck the proverbial drivel. 

Love should be so much more, beyond mere words.

+

"Don't put me in the glass envelope." 

Utter transparency, sheer emptiness, out of breath. 

"Don't strip me off on the aisle." 

Stripped off naked, cringing on the aisle. 

"Stop." 

Stop the perplexity and the intimidation. 

"Just stop everything." 

+

Eiji couldn't distinguish between setbacks and the dangers of simplicity. He still wanted to feel personal. 

Eiri reads his writing silently. He can't think clearly. He can't continue his work. He can't write his paragraph. Japan's greatest romance novelist indeed...He can't stand the thought - being a novelist, a writer. He isn't a writer. Just a...an accomplished man. Just an accomplished man, really, that's all. 

"How can Yuki Eiri write so well?" He asks himself. 

Prose structured alluringly. Words, carefully selected, to compel a powerful story. 

"I am Yuki Eiri." He says aloud.

"I'm not a writer." He reaffirms. 

He pauses his thoughts for a moment.

Suddenly, he feels an immense anger, a hatred for his own work. He highlights all 12 pages of the one-week old manuscript, pushes the 'delete' key and clicked on the 'exit' button. A prompt shows up suggesting him to save his work. He stares at the prompt window. Yes, No, Yes, No, Yes, No. He becomes indecisive.

"Fuck." He swears, exasperated, tiredly. He restores his deleted work and reads again. Now, he decides the last line is airy and apathetic. As a matter of fact, maybe he will find that the whole story overblown tomorrow (which is highly possible). Eiri wants this to be his best book, the one that finally matches up to his expectations, better and more cataclysmic than "Cool" - yet, of course, he has wanted the same for all his books after "Cool". Eiri sighs, shut his eyes for a moment, and makes a point to re-write the last paragraph, in hope that nature will reveal itself for Eiri to continue. 

Eiji couldn't visualize the difference between human fecklessness and the apocalyptic dangers of simplicity. All he wanted was to make believe that in the end, his sympathy wasn't take advantage of, that he was still able to feel his own presence, that he was still feeling personal. 

Eiri allows himself to read the re-written paragraph. It seems good enough. His lavish hopes are rekindling. He takes a sip of the cold morning coffee (a vice of his), sets it back down, stretch his arms a little. He feels powerful again. His mind is starting to hum, exploring the infinite possibilities that may follow. He knows he can write some more now. Yes, he can. He can feel his other self empowering him; his parallel self, purer, more defined, more articulated self. He won't call it his soul though, if he ever is religious at all. No, not his soul. It's...his second self. It's a hothouse, delicate and sensitive, which runs in his mental veins, where he can delve in, and be cathartic and versatile. Words will flow and sentences will traverse in the most fantastic form. The 'second self' offers Eiri only fathomless satisfaction in writing, though taking into considerations that Eiri is fortunate enough for the 'second self' comes and goes without warning. It either makes him Yuki Eiri, the literati, poised and confident, or Yuki Eiri, the incompetent, insecure and afraid. 

Eiji will die. He will die in his forties. Eiji will commit suicide, lose himself entirely and take his own life. He will do just that. 

Eiri sips the dregs again, sets the cup back on his table and stares at the stool next to him. The stool was situated where it was last week when Eiri decide, for a change, after much distaste in stereotypical heterosexual hush-hush romance novels, to attempt imploring homosexuality in his new book. 

Eiji is a bisexual. 

He will love women, and men, and be loved by them. He will be famous, being a successful actor, adored and desired by fans, many fans. He will be brash and attractive. He will be the sex symbol, the top notch, the livelihood of the paparazzi. He will be grand. He will be all. And in the end, he will lose everything. He will lose sanity. He will lose himself. He won't be the one with the last laugh. He does not own nor deserves it. 

Eiri turns back to his laptop, contemplates whether he will have a smoke. "...Just a little more..." He mutters to himself. 

__

It was summer - late morning summer. 

And Eiji hated mornings. 

He exhaled another gray plume of smoke, stared at the ceiling blankly, then to the digital clock beside it, screaming half past eleven loudly (He found the clock one of the most hideous things he had in his study). He wasn't ready yet; not ready to face the day; the chores and the tasks, to live life in another day itself. The thought of living the day made the air dank - the despondency to live life itself. He stood up and perambulated towards the window, opening the curtains. He looked down and across the suburbs, amidst the summer heat. The city, in its racket, puts everyone on the threshold of robustness. Eiji was aroused by the city life. The violent jolts of the capital reveal only shocks of immersion, yet with respected detachment at the same time. And here he was, standing atop of the city, enticed by it, however, not quite excited to face the day. His vision blurred and soon found himself staring blankly at his faint reflection on the panes. He turned away, upon retrieving back his conscientious. He wasn't going to see his reflected self. Reflections were... 

Reflections are... 

"Good morning, Eiji..." Seiko interrupted his thoughts rud--

"Good morning Yuki-!" Shuichi barged in without knocking. 

"Don't you even have the courtesy to knock, brat?" 

"Ah...I didn't know you are still working..." 

"Well, I am." 

"I'm sorry..." 

"..."

"I really am..."

"You don't need to apologize, idiot." 

"Huh?" 

"What do you want?" 

"Ooh, I made breakfast! Um...thought you would like to have some...pancakes and orange juice...I won't bother you if you still want to...work..."

"...I hope I won't get diarrhea after I eat..." Yuki gets up, exhales a moist breath, takes his cup, with its cold dregs and walks out of his study with Shuichi all excited to show his burnt pancakes. 

It is summer - late morning summer. 

And Eiri hates mornings. 

-TBC-


End file.
